


Pound Puppies

by swedish_furniture



Series: Lust Actually [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: hellhounds are totally puppies shut the fuck up, let's play a game called 'find the Good Omens reference', puppies are totally a plot device right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swedish_furniture/pseuds/swedish_furniture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby's life was so much easier before it got invaded by demon kings and their trickster compatriots. </p><p>Also, puppies.</p><p>Because this is Bobby's life now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pound Puppies

When Crowley shows up at Bobby’s place with a hellhound in tow, Bobby slams the door in his face.

(It doesn’t make the demon go away, but it makes _Bobby_ feel better, so that’s something, right?)

Crowley knocks.  Bobby studiously ignores him.

“Oh, come _on_ , darling, this is childish, I’m pressed for time, and _I’ll owe you a favor_.” Crowley says.

Bobby opens the door, because a favor from the King of the Crossroads is nothing to turn up his nose at, but he doesn’t open up the salt line, because he’s curious, not _stupid._

“I’m listening.” he says, and Crowley grimaces.  “This,” he motions to the ominously growling empty space next to him, “is Caligula.”

“Cute.  Naming your hound after an insane dictator.” Bobby comments.

“No, it’s _actually_ Caligula, _do_ try to keep up, love,” retorts Crowley, because this is Bobby’s life and he missed his daily dose of snarky hellspawn this morning.

“So, what about him?”

There’s another grimace, and Crowley says- “I need a dog sitter” which was not even _on_ the list of Things Bobby Never Expected to Hear Ever.

“What,” he says flatly.

“Eloquent as always, Singer.” Crowley sighs.  “Look, you won’t even know he’s here.  I just need somewhere to keep him, while I go on a … _business_ trip.”

“What.” Bobby says again, because he is not getting over the fact that Crowley is essentially asking him to watch something he can’t even _see_.

(Who says hunters can’t have a sense of irony?)

“Yes, good, wonderful to know we’re all on the same page,” Crowley snaps, and then kind of turns on his heel and fades away into the shadows, and Bobby assumes that the hellhound is still sitting on his porch, because he can still hear the growling.

Bobby breathes in once, holds it in for a second, and exhales slowly, before addressing Caligula.  “Well, let’s see if I can’t find something for you to eat.”

(There’s a thumping noise that he assumes is the hound’s tail hitting the floor, and he sighs again, because _this is his life_.)

Caligula stays a week, and it’s almost comfortable, Bobby had forgotten how nice it was to have a dog around the place, never gotten another one after Rumsfeld, and he kind of smiles when he wakes up to find Caligula has left another dead woodland creature in front of the door as a symbol of his hunting prowess.

When Crowley comes by to pick up his hound, Gabriel comes with him.

One moment, Bobby’s alone in his kitchen, brewing up a pot of coffee, and the next, every faucet in his house is running butterscotch pudding, and he has a demon king and a trickster angel sitting at his table.

Because this.  Is Bobby’s _life._

“-and I’m not saying we ever agreed to be _exclusive,_ all I’m saying is if you wanna see other angels, I should be allowed to fraternize with other demons, sugarplum.”  Gabriel sounds hurt and confused and _bitchy_ , and a bitchy trickster is the worst kind of trickster because a bitchy trickster will turn your underwear into an angry wolverine _just because he can_.

(Granted, this isn’t all that much different from a normal trickster, so. 

The lesson learned here is a _trickster_ is the worst kind of trickster.)

Crowley gives a long-suffering exhale of breath, and says, in the tone of one explaining something for the third time to a very small child- “Darling, the Ritz is a long standing tradition, and I don’t plan on stopping it just because _you_ plan to have us attempt be semi-monogamous.”

“Lover’s quarrel?” Bobby asks, because he is enjoying himself far more than he should, and doesn’t he kind of _deserve_ to enjoy this a little?

(The answer to that is: Yes.  _Yes, he does_.)

Gabriel looks up, and finally seems to realize where he is, and looks between Bobby and Crowley for a moment, before saying, “Uhm, gumdrop, _why_ are we in Short- Plaid-and-Bearded’s kitchen?”

Crowley rolls his eyes.  “Because you ruined the middle of a very enjoyable luncheon to demand that Jack and Caligula have a ‘playdate’, and then, when I told you Caligula was being dog sat, you snapped your fingers and we ended up here.”

“But _why_ did we end up _here_?” Gabriel whines.

There’s a subsonic ‘ _woof’_ and the rapid ‘ _tic-tic-tic’_ of nails on wood as Caligula realizes people are talking about him _and he’s not in the room with them_ , and Crowley waves a hand, and Gabriel’s suddenly knocked backwards onto the floor.

(If Bobby had to guess, he’d say that Crowley had just transported his hound into the kitchen for the sole purpose of licking Gabriel to death.)

With Gabriel thus occupied, Crowley turns to Bobby and says- “I hope he wasn’t any trouble.”

“Well, I think he’s murdered every squirrel in the tristate area, but, other than that, everything was fine.”  Bobby tells him.

“I _do_ owe you, Singer, don’t forget that.” Crowley says, in a tone of voice that makes it clear he’s trying to say thank you without _actually_ saying it.

 _Demons_ , man.

Meanwhile, Gabriel’s managed to fend off Caligula- he’s found the magic spot behind his right ear, and Bobby’s windows shake with the force of the hound’s tail hitting the floor.  The trickster snaps his fingers and there’s a Jack Russell terrier prancing around the room, and Gabriel stops scratching Caligula and shoves him bodily towards the door, saying- “Go ahead, you two crazy kids go play outside.”

“He named his Jack Russell ‘ _Jack’_?” Bobby asks, just to be clear.

“He’s lucky he’s pretty, because he’s not too smart.” Crowley says.

“I _heard_ that, cupcake.” Gabriel snaps, dramatically flinging himself back into one of Bobby’s kitchen chairs.  “Yeah, so, you, Singer, you were a married man, right?”

“Um.” says Bobby, because, uh _, hello, non sequitor_.

“ _Angel._ ” Crowley hisses at him.

Gabriel ignores the demon and turns his full attention onto Bobby.  “So, if your wife told you she was going on a _business trip_ , but then you found out she was _actually_ having lunch with your _brother_ , and this was, apparently, a _regular thing_ , how would _you_ feel?”

“Gabriel, darling, for the love of…someone, _Manchester_ , he wouldn’t even know if I was coming onto him if I _said_ “I’m coming onto you”!”

Bobby feels this is getting disturbingly close to an episode of Jerry Springer, and he says so.

Gabriel grins and snaps his fingers, and, suddenly, instead of a kitchen sink, Bobby has a kiddie pool filled with green jello and Crowley’s sitting in it, wearing a pink bikini, wearing the look of someone who this has happened to _one too many times_.

 _Tricksters_ , man.

The next day, Bobby gets a call from Sam, who asks, in the tone of someone who Is not quite sure if they want an answer- “Bobby, why were you and Crowley featured on ‘The Good, the Bad, and the Jerry’ episode of Jerry Springer yesterday?”

He can hear Dean in the background, shouting for Sam to tell Bobby to tell Crowley that pink is _not_ his color.

(Bobby knows for a _fact_ that Crowley already knows pink is not his color.)

“Well, it’s a long story, but here’s the general gist of it,” Bobby says to Sam, and then hangs up without saying anything else.

Bobby Singer has never claimed to be a nice man, but he does not _need_ to be nice.

_Because this is Bobby’s life._


End file.
